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The nightly swap meet's going on down one end of the plaza, leaving the wind-sheltered end for the cookfires. Nobody really bothers with money any more. Things: food, tools, gadgets that still work, precious batteries and even more precious solar cells. The swappers pay rent in lights: strings and strings and strings of fairy lights marking the boundaries of the rooftop, powered by batteries fueled by the wind turbines at each corner of the rooftop.

Humans find ways to survive and be happy no matter how crazy things get. It is one of their great talents. And one of the guys does have a "bike shop"--salvaged scraps put together into mountain bikes and heavy-shocked triped haulers. Even a few dog carts. The free box is surprisingly full tonight too--mostly things like pairs of socks, a bundle of polypropylene rope, an oil lamp made from an old beer bottle.

Jen's sitting near the bazaar and watches as he goes bym head tilting slowly. The cat takes one look at her reaction, gets up, and nonchalantly starts following Donald.